Crescent

1

Instead, she balled her coat in her fist. "And ripping my coat teaches me how to fight?" She lifted her coattail and shook its saddened state in his face. The patterned midnight fabric, once displaying fanciful embroidery of flowers that bloomed in moonlight, was ripped straight down the middle. Even the silver needlework lining the edge had been destroyed beyond repair. Unless, of course, she found some sort of magic seamstress, but she had nothing to offer them in exchange for their work. Magic was currency as much as it was a skill in battle, and fae would accept nothing else in trade.

He merely shrugged, unbothered as ever. "It was a common tactic. Act faster next time and maybe your coat won't have to suffer so. Be thankful I didn't impale you."

"Yeah? Well..." Vera set her jaw as the gears in her mind turned. When she couldn't come up with a good enough retort, she let out a breath and locked the gate. Sticking her tongue out at her brother, she left the arena. "Stay there and think about what you've done—and don't unlock the gate, magically or otherwise."

"How cold, sister." He sighed dramatically. The gate rattled as he flung himself against it in defeat.

She didn't look back. That would risk giving him the satisfaction that she cared. Instead, she waved over her shoulder. Another sigh from behind told her he had accepted his fate, confined to the training grounds until she or someone else took pity on him. It certainly wouldn't be her, not when her cheeks still burned with frustration and shame. But relief made her shoulders sag. At least he had been easily diverted from his question.

A gravel path connected the outdoor arena, positioned on a cliff overlooking the cities of the Moon Court, to the stables and finally to the courtyard. All of the property belonged to her family, an ever-growing expanse of wealth for her oldest brothers' service on the High Council. They had ascended to what once was their father's place and Vera knew the whole Moon Court relished the new age of councilmen Wyn and Silas, even if she thought one was a pompous jerk and the other an absolute bonehead. They presided over the academics of magic and were supposed to manage the creation and assimilation of new spells, yet they hardly created anything new themselves. In fact, nothing new had been created in nearly over a century. Magic had reached a stalemate as whispers of conspiracy slowly took over the Court. Whispers that sent a tingle down her spine.

Vera shed her coat and folded it over her arms, skimming a finger over the destroyed needlework. She sighed. The coat had been a gift from her eldest sister, Ferne, who had left to marry a fae of the Sun Court on the opposite side of the world. She had stitched it by hand in an effort to show that magic was not everything. Yet it was magic that so easily destroyed such a fragile gift, and only magic that could restore it to what it once was.

"If only I was a proper fae," Vera muttered. She folded the ripped coattail under the soft blue fabric of the coat to hide the damage. "Maybe then Wyn's cheating and teasing wouldn't matter." Though some part of her couldn't blame him for his reasoning. Searching for ways to cut corners was the fae way, her father said. It was why they treasured the shifting nature of words, why they loved magic and lies. Wyn in particular was the most vicious about exploiting loopholes in her speech.

Before she knew it, she had entered the gardens surrounding the Reite family manor. Neatly trimmed hedges outlined the flowerbeds of blossoming moonflowers, all aglow with a pale silver light that mimicked that of the moon. As the sun sank lower in the sky, their glow brightened. Evening birdsong echoed through the still air, and the world was at peace despite the turmoil in Vera's chest. She released a heavy breath and stopped by a familiar bed of lilies. Their soft blue petals hummed with electricity. Magic coursed through their roots and blessed them with their unnatural coloring. Her fingers brushed against them; they were warm beneath her touch.